


6:03 is 3:09

by shuckfaceparadise (isaacfignewton)



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kinda, Nightmares, The Death Cure Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacfignewton/pseuds/shuckfaceparadise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say you can recognize that you're dreaming when the clocks change between glances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	6:03 is 3:09

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my nightmare [here](http://shuckfaceparadise.tumblr.com/post/71611902059/well-the-first-time-i-go-to-sleep-before-2-am-in) and this post [here](http://threerunners.tumblr.com/post/72680520549/omg-so-i-dont-know-if-you-watched-the-teen-wolf), but not really true to either of them.
> 
> Unbetaed, mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Something wasn’t right, Thomas thought, staring hard at the wall. It was stone and grey like usual, vines creeping up it and curling over the top, but it was rippling slightly under his gaze. He backed away from it, turning to run when it seemed to burst outwards, hand-like shapes reaching for him. 

He was in the Maze moments later, not sure where he’d come from but running from something. Or maybe towards something, he couldn’t tell, just that there were rhythmic clicking sounds all around him and he was getting sleepy. He must have gotten stung, that was it, and he was slowly slipping to unconsciousness. Even as darkness closed in around him and he felt his veins fill with concrete, he kept running, not able to turn his legs off, yet not feeling them at the same time.

In the next moment he was waking up. He recognized the ceiling of Homestead but it was too far up, and he reached for it, making a hurt sounds when Minho leaned over, settling him back down. Everything was deathly quiet around them, like maybe the other Gladers were all asleep, but even as Thomas watched there was sunlight coming in through the window and a bird– a bird?– flitting past. He heard it chirping, and wondered why the Creators had allowed it in.

He was waking up again. Minho still sat with him, a little further away now but close enough that when Thomas made an upset noise the other boy heard it and came closer.

“It’s all fine,” he said. His grin was malicious. Thomas wondered if Minho was mad that Thomas had gotten stung. Stupid, stupid, stupid, how could he have been so stupid?

Minho’s eyes weren’t his eyes, too beady and calculating, but Thomas didn’t think much of it as he slipped off again.

He was back in the Maze now, running. For a moment, it was disorienting, but he realized he must have just gotten lost in the monotony of it. In the distance, he could see Minho in front of him, and he started running faster, trying to catch up. Minho was quicker though, feet moving as a blur and hands practically just air for all that Thomas saw them. He kept trying to catch up, at least to the dust that Minho was making, but he had no time to think of a way to do that before they were rounding the corner and hitting something squishy and soft.

His body was alive with the pain of being stung, yet it was muted behind something he couldn’t see and he touched his skin, trying to find it. He looked up, and then realized with a start the wall he’d run into was just a wall, squishy and made of Griever-mass as it was.

Something was wrong, and someone was laughing behind him. Thomas turned quickly, surroundings blurring and finding himself back in the Glade. It was still silent, and before he could really comprehend that Minho was walking up to him, grabbing his jaw and turning it so he could stare him in the eye, hissing, “Thomas, why’d you let us get stung, Thomas?”

Thomas gasped, jerking away as he realized that Ratman’s voice was coming out of Minho’s mouth, but then he grew confused when he realized he didn’t yet know Ratman, that he was in the Glade.

What is happening? he thought desperately, trying to turn and run from Ratman-Minho but finding his feet sinking further into the ground with each step he tried to take. Ratman-Minho’s face was next to his now, cooing, “Thomas, you got stung, time to go through the Changing!” There was a scream, distant and discordant.

Again Thomas was waking up in the Homestead. There were odd lights around him and his stomach felt empty. Strangely, now he felt normal, and he flopped down. It really had been the Changing hadn’t it? he thought, sighing with relief that it was over. A quick glance at his watch read 6:03, and he figured the Doors would be opening soon, but then, as he got up, he read a different number out of the corner of his eye.

3:09. It wasn’t over.

He was waking up again, stuck in the bed in Homestead. His arms weren’t moving, they wouldn’t move, but suddenly he was running through the Maze and standing in front of one of the plaques that usually read World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department, but now, as he stood, panting in front of it, the words were burned into his mind.

_Please, Tommy. Please._

He was on the ground, somewhere, maybe the Deadheads, rocking back and forth.  Every few second he checked his watch.

5:43

2:12

7:92

Time wasn’t working right, still, he managed to notice, beating his head back against a tree that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Something read the note to him, echoing in his head, “Kill me. If you’ve ever been my friend, kill me.” It was a mocking voice, and Ratman-Minho sat across the meadow from him, singing.

Newt’s face, screaming and begging, was the last thing Thomas saw before he was slapping himself awake, screaming, hands clawing at the ground beside him. His nails ripped off in the dirt, blood smearing down his arms as he kept screaming, voice growing hoarse as he started sobbing.

His body was shaking all over and he dimly felt someone gathering him into their arms. He tried to flail out of it, screaming, “I’m sorry! I pulled the trigger, I pulled it!” His hands flew to grip their forearms and as he started clawing at them, letting out trembling, terrified gasps. Everything was dark and he couldn’t figure out where he was, couldn’t hear anything over the rush in his head. His ears were ringing from his own screams. He couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the sobs that were wracking his body, but eventually he became aware of the sounds around him, a voice murmuring behind his ear, comforting.

“Shh, shh, Thomas. It’s okay, you’re okay,” the voice said and he recognized it with a gasp as Minho, _his_ Minho. His hands tightened on the arms still holding him and he turned into Minho’s chest, burying his face there and rubbing the tears off on his friend’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking into another sob and arms reaching around Minho to scrabble uselessly against his back. He was tired out by the crying, tired out by the nightmare and all the running he had done in it.

Minho’s hands smoothed over his back, rubbing out the last tremors. Eventually, Minho noticed the boy had slipped into what was, hopefully, a dreamless sleep. Despite being able to leave, he gathered his friend up in his arms, slipping himself into the sleeping bag. 

As he rested his chin on top of Thomas’s head, he only said one more thing before he let himself go back to sleep.

“I just wish you’d tell me what haunts you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So... yeah. A peek into my darker writing style. Not exactly the smut you might know me for. 
> 
> As always, you should come say hi to me on tumblr at [shuckfaceparadise](http://shuckfaceparadise.tumblr.com/). I make edits and I write things and it's pretty cool.


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